EIGHTS
by Leonaria Dragonbane
Summary: Victor Creed, AKA Sabretooth moves in on the Eighth Floor and discovers a world he didn't know existed. Can he cope with normal people living normal lives?
1. Chapter 1

EIGHTS

Ok another "Where was Creed during the other two movies?" plot, I know I know, I've done them do death – but there are SO many interesting possibilities.

I don't own them; I don't own him – aside from wishful thinking that is. Thank you Marvel for creating such wonderful characters to play with and a wonderful world for them to play in. I hope my minor contributions are appreciated.

Chapter 1 – Moving Day – Five Months after Liberty Island.

"Christie – will you quit already. I am NOT coming to dinner tonight. I told you…" She paused as she opened the door to the building.

"Blow it off, I mean this is one of the most eligible bachelors in New York, and you would rather hang out with your neighbors with ten kids and the geriatric ward." Her sister's tone was sharp.

"I don't care if it's the most eligible bachelor in the world – and he looked like Hugh Jackman, I am NOT interested. Period. End of subject." She said as she walked to the elevator.

OUT OF ORDER. She groaned at the sign. Eight flights of stairs were never fun. She'd call the super and complain in the morning. She had to get dinner ready for tonight.

"You OWE me, Christian." Her twin snapped into the phone.

"No, I don't."

"One night, dinner – it won't hurt a bit, I promise. He doesn't even bite." Her sister was pleading now.

"No. I am not going to sit there and be bored out of my skull while David rambles on about business to some guy you are trying to pimp me out to – just to close a deal. I am NOT doing it."

"HOW DARE YOU!" Her sister shouted.

"I'm tired of the game, Christine. Your last 'bachelor' let me in on the deal. You and David can close this deal without me having to fight off an octopus." She snapped. Three more floors, damn. She heard someone coming down and moved to the side.

"Please, Christian." Her sister was desperate, pulling out the 'P' word. It wasn't normally in her vocabulary.

"No. I am hanging up now. Goodbye." She clicked the phone closed just as she passed the person coming down. She didn't see much for the pile of boxes he was carrying but she got a definite impression of size – and yellow, tawny yellow. She finished her climb and opened the stairway door. She wearily made her way to apartment 805 and slipped her key into the lock. The door across the hall was open, someone was moving into 804. She shrugged, she had dinner to cook.

Her phone was ringing when she walked in the door. She glanced at the caller ID and didn't answer it. Christie would just have to learn to take 'No' for an answer. She dropped her purse on the table in the bedroom and kicked off her shoes.

"I know you are there." Her sister's voice came over the answering machine. "Pick up."

She ignored it and went into the kitchen to start cooking. She tied on her apron over her suit, and cursed as she caught her toe on the bottom corner of the cabinet. These stockings were toast.

"CHRISTIAN AMANDA CHARMICHEL pick up this phone now." She poured rice into a baking dish with a couple cans of cream of chicken soup and pulled the chickens she'd set out to thaw that morning from the refrigerator. She pulled a large cleaver from her butcherblock and started cutting up the bird

"Dinner won't hurt you, it's not like those dweebs on your floor will miss you anyway. They are LOSERS! You are blowing off TONY STARK for some LOSERS! Working class LOSERS! I KNOW you can hear me." She ignored her sister as she slammed the cleaver through the backbone of the chicken.

"Fine – don't come crying to me when you need money for rent." Her sister hissed, and then the room was quiet. She sighed. Peace at last, for the moment. Her peaceful moment was interrupted by a resounding crash from the hallway.

She ran to the door, cleaver in hand and opened it

"DAMN – I just dropped a box, don't cut my head off." She looked down at him as he picked up the greasy auto parts from the floor.

"Sorry was cutting up a chicken, forgot I had it in my hand." She said sheepishly. He stood up and she followed with her eyes – up and up and up.

"Victor." He held out a hand but realized it was covered in grease.

"Christian." She said.

"Movin' in." He said.

"I see that." She replied.

"Right – I'll let you get back to dinner." He gave her a slight smile and leaned down to pick up the box on the floor.

"If you aren't busy, it's Eighth Night, the floor gets together every eight evenings for a potluck, and you are welcome to join us." She said.

"I ain't even been shopping'yet – I don't have anything to bring." He said with what she would swear was a growl.

"We don't expect new people to bring anything the first time anyway; it's at eight in the rec room, if you are interested." He just nodded and picked up the box. She turned and went back into her apartment, blushing at the way she'd noticed the muscles straining under his tight black T-shirt.

She finished cutting up the chickens and placed the pieces across the top of the bed of rice in the two casserole dishes she'd prepared. She put them in the oven and went into the bedroom to change clothes. She glanced out the window and saw him unloading more boxes from a truck on the street outside. He was bending over the bed of the truck and she couldn't help but admire the way his jeans clung to the thick muscles of his thighs.

"Get a GRIP!" She hissed at herself. "He's probably married with three kids."

She climbed into the shower and washed her hair, anything to keep from looking out the window.

xxxxxxxx

He grumbled as the box tried to slip from his grip again. Eight flights of stairs wasn't fun, not carrying all these damned boxes. After the statue incident he'd been picked up by SHEILD, given two choices, work for them – or be the guinea pig for all the new weapons they developed. He'd chosen to work for them. Last month he'd managed to get free of them – sort of.

He still was pissed about the whole thing. He'd done what they told him to do, gone in, taken out the damned idiot causing all the problems in that damned African country – couldn't remember which one, and even ended up rescuing Fury for his trouble. Fury had cut him loose, with a warning about getting caught, and a suggestion that he stay in touch, in case they needed him again.

He'd been pardoned, and now was cut loose, on his own. They wanted him to lay low, hell HE wanted to lay low for a while. He was TIRED! That last mission had pushed even HIM to the breaking point. He'd checked on Erik but he was still in the plastic bubble they'd put him in. Myst wasn't returning his calls, and he hadn't heard a word from Toad. He cut his ties to the Brotherhood and was planning on freelancing again.

He was seriously considering just kicking back in a recliner with a case of beer and a big screen TV for a couple years, but he knew he'd get bored. He NEEDED to work – to hunt, like it or not. He carried the box into the apartment, almost dropping this one to see if she'd come out again.

He had to admit his new neighbor was cute – petite, blonde with red tints, but he couldn't tell if it was natural or not – he might get a chance to find out, if he played his cards right, from the scent he'd picked up from her apartment. Her eyes weren't brown or green but something in between with gold flecks in them. He was surprised he'd noticed, but she'd been so cute with the cleaver in her hand, business suit covered with an apron, and what ever she was cooking smelled divine. The apron only emphasized her curves, and he'd even noticed she'd had a hole in one toe of her stockings. He'd felt her watching him from the window when he'd been at the truck, and could smell her in the hallway outside the apartment. She was very interested.

He just might go to the dinner thing tonight. He didn't have any other plans, and these were the last boxes from the truck. He looked around the apartment. His mattress was on the floor in the bedroom, his recliner and TV were set up in the living room and a desk with his computer was against one wall in what was supposed to be a dining room. The phone and internet guy would be there tomorrow to install his hookup, so he couldn't really do anything until then anyway.

He glanced at the stuff in the box, mostly old coffee cups and chipped plates. He'd never had much in the way of personal belongings in the first place, at least not anything that he couldn't replace easily. It wasn't that he didn't have the money – he could probably buy and sell the egg head several times over. He just never did anything with it. He hadn't even lived in an actual house or apartment in years, living on the streets, or where ever his current employer had room for him. It was strange having his own space, without having to share. It had to have been fifty years or more since he'd been on his own like this.

He went into the bedroom and unpacked the bags of clothes. All his suits were already hung in the closet. He didn't give a shit where he lived, but he needed to make an impression on his clients – one way or the other. He had two sets of clothes – two personas. One was cool, all business, tailored suits and shirts, expensive and tasteful. The other was rough, all jeans and leathers, T-shirts and leather jackets and boots.

His real 'work' clothes were piled in a corner of one closet, hand tanned leathers, with the handmade duster over them. He had three finished sets, and about five pieces and parts in various stages of construction. The set he'd worn at the statue had been almost completely destroyed. It was just easier to deal with blood and other bodily fluids in the leathers, easier to clean up, the way he treated them. He'd tried working in denim but he just ended up having to burn the clothes after a job. He knew how to re use the leather and make sure the blood stains didn't show.

He could smell whatever she was cooking across the hall and it was making his mouth water. He glanced at the clock and made a decision. There was a deli on the corner; he wasn't going to go to this 'Eighth Night' empty handed. He had about an hour to get down there and back with something for dinner for the potluck.


	2. Chapter 2

EIGHTS

Ok another "Where was Creed during the other two movies?" plot, I know I know, I've done them do death – but there are SO many interesting possibilities.

I don't own them; I don't own him – aside from wishful thinking that is. Thank you Marvel for creating such wonderful characters to play with and a wonderful world for them to play in. I hope my minor contributions are appreciated.

A/N The idea for Eighth Night came from a friend who lived in a building in New York. The floor he lived on was predominantly Jewish and every Sabbath they would all bring their dining room tables into the hallway and have a communal Sabbath instead of trying to crowd into one apartment or another. I thought it was a GREAT idea, and shows that no matter how impersonal apartment living can be – there are those who can turn it into a community.

Chapter 2 – Eighth Night

He carried the gallon of potato salad up the stairs. Maybe he'd just stay in the apartment and eat it himself – he didn't need to socialize. He could hear them, gathering in the rec room on the floor and he groaned. He heard KIDS – not decent almost adult teenagers but KIDS high pitched squealing little KIDS – and worse CUBS crying screaming whining CUBS. He wanted to crawl into his apartment and put in a pair of ear plugs.

"There you are. I knocked but there was no answer?" He glanced down at her. She was smiling and carrying two casserole carriers. He smelled burned flesh and knew she'd hurt herself.

"Let me take one of those. I didn't want to go empty handed." He said in answer to her question. She handed him one of the containers and he could feel the heat through the insulation. They had to have just come out of the oven.

"Thank you." She said as she handed it over. "Is your wife coming?" He coughed to cover his surprise at the question.

"Not married." He said.

"Oh, sorry – I just assumed…"

"What someone as ugly as me had ta be married."

"Not exactly but yeah." He watched the blush spread across her face. Those cards were falling just right. He followed her down the hallway to the rec room. The apartments builders had left one apartment unfinished, with the kitchen appliances installed but no walls except around the bathroom for privacy - that was the rec room. Inside were probably forty people, all laughing and gathering around a large table.

Christian introduced him to an older woman she called Mrs. P. and then left him while she set the casseroles on the table.

"Victor – it's nice to meet you. Welcome to Eight." The old woman said. He smiled at her.

"Where do you want this?" He held up the gallon of potato salad.

"On the table." She said with a smile. He quickly migrated to the back of the room, so he could watch and be out of the way. He was stunned. They didn't snipe at each other; they said please and thank you and pass the butter. He thought people like this only existed in works of fiction. He finally got up and fixed himself a plate, he was hungry. He sat back down and was surprised to be interupted while he was eating.

"Hi, I'm Michelle, I live in 814." A pretty brunette said as she held out her hand.

"Victor – 804."

"Other side of the courtyard, across from Christian." She said with a smile as she sat down next to him and crossed her legs, letting her skirt fall away from her thigh.

"Yeah."

"Lucky girl."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well – there just aren't that many single guys on Eight." She said with a smile and a squeeze of her hand on his leg.

"Not interested, just came out of a bad thing – don't want another, if you know what I mean." He said moving her hand. He was the predator damn it. He didn't like feeling like prey.

"Poor baby, well you take all the time you need to recover, and if you need ANYTHING, just let me know." She stood up with a deliberate sway of her hips and he choked back a laugh. That girl was a predator, and he felt sorry for the man she managed to hunt down and trap. Just then he saw his neighbor across the room talking to a man and a woman with five kids clustered around. He forced himself to filter out the other voices so he could hear what they were saying.

"…dropped a box of auto parts, maybe he can help."

"I'll just take it to a shop. I hate being down, and out the money on the repairs but I hate asking for help."

"Daniel – you NEED that truck, you can't afford to be down for a couple days while a shop gets to it." Christian said. Victor stood up and walked across the room.

"Hey – I'm gonna head back to my apartment. Thanks for the invite." He said to her.

"Wait, do you work on cars?"

"A little."

"Daniel is a delivery driver, he owns his own truck and it's giving him problems. Could you take a look at it? If you're busy, we understand, but he just can't afford to be down while he waits on a shop." He glared at the petite woman, damned busy body.

"Listen, I was planning on taking it to a shop anyway. Don't worry about it."

"I can take a look. It will depend on if I know the type of truck and what's wrong with it if I can fix it." He said, she would be a damned busy body do-gooder. He HATED busy body do-gooders, even if they were cute.

"We are in 820; but you don't have to do this if you don't want." The man said.

"I'll take a look. Thanks again for the invite, but I'm beat. See ya around." He turned his back on them and walked out. He caught the gloating look on Michelle's face as he walked out the door. Maybe he could put up with the do-gooder, if only to slam the competing predator on the floor. He was nothing if not competitive.

He walked back to his apartment and sat down in his chair with a cold beer. The TV was silent though. He was listening to the noises of the floor.

XXXXXX

"The guy just moved in. I hate asking him for help." Daniel said.

"He said he'd look at it." Christian said. Daniel smiled at her.

"Well, I'll certainly let him, I can't afford the shop right now, but I'm going to pay the guy." He said.

"Well well, I guess I'll have some interesting views out my window." Michelle said as she walked up. "Too bad he just got out of a bad relationship. Poor guy needs his space."

"Really?" Christian asked. He hadn't said anything to her.

"Yea, he's pretty broken up about it." Michelle said. Christian glared at the woman. They weren't exactly friends, but they were Eights, so she forced herself to stay polite.

"How's Mrs. P. doing since the surgery?" She asked Michelle. The woman lived across the hall from everyone's 'grandma,' and Christian had been concerned about the heart surgery the older woman had undergone last month.

"She's doing fine." Michelle dropped her vamp act. Christian liked her better when she wasn't trying to vamp every man on the floor. "The nurses are in every day, and I've been making sure she eats."

"Thanks."

"You gossipin' about me?" The old woman asked as she walked up to them.

"No, Mrs. P. Just worried about your surgery." Christian said.

"I'm fine. And so's that new boy in 804."

"MRS. P!" The two women said in unison.

"I ain't too old to notice. Boy like that needs a woman to look after him."

"Well, evidently he had one, but it got ugly." Michelle said, this time without any pretenses, Mrs. P. just didn't put up with them.

"Then, girl, leave him alone. Boy needs time to recover from somethin' like that. And that goes for you, too missy." She pointed her finger at Christian.

"I invited him tonight, that's it. Besides I have enough problems with my sister constantly trying to fix me up." She grumbled.

Mrs. P. just nodded and walked away from the group.

"Well, good night, I have to be at work in the morning." Christian said.

"Good night." They all said in unison.

She walked down the hallway. His door was closed, which was fine with her. She slipped her key into the lock and opened her own door. The answering machine was blinking – and there were eight new messages. She hit the play button and deleted the first one from her sister; she'd listened to that tirade while she was cooking.

"Christian, pick up. It's seven thirty, I told him you'd be here, and you're not here. Pick up the damned phone. That better mean you are on the way." She hit the delete button.

"Christian – damn it you stood up TONY STARK. David and I will never forgive you for this." Delete again.

"Christian – it's Maggie. Your sister called me, what's the deal? Call me." She hit the save button for that one. She'd call her later.

"…siding offer, please call….." She deleted that one and the other telemarketing call after it.

"Christian, if you are with those losers I'll never forgive you. Pick up the damned phone. Fine – don't expect any help from us, I've had it with you." Delete again.

"Christian – Maggie again, Christie's in a real snit, what the hell did you do, I want ALL the gory details. Oh that's right this is Eighth Night. Call me when you get in." She saved that one, Maggie was going to get a real kick out of THIS story.

"Christian – sorry about taking off like that, I just ain't used ta crowds. I'll see you around, and if you see Daniel, tell him I'll be by sometime tomorrow to look at the truck. I had a nice time tonight." She blushed. "I didn't know people like that existed, it really opened my eyes. Anyway, thanks again, and I'm lookin' forward to the next one." His voice was soft over the phone, almost like a purr, and it made her tremble down to her toes. How the hell had he gotten her number?


	3. Chapter 3

EIGHTS

Ok another "Where was Creed during the other two movies?" plot, I know I know, I've done them do death – but there are SO many interesting possibilities.

I don't own them; I don't own him – aside from wishful thinking that is. Thank you Marvel for creating such wonderful characters to play with and a wonderful world for them to play in. I hope my minor contributions are appreciated.

Chapter 3 – Sibling Rivalry

She was on the phone with her sister when she walked up to the front of the building.

"Christian, I don't care, what you did was inexcusable. David and I put out a fortune on that dinner, Mr. Stark was told you would be here to meet him, and you didn't show up. Why? Because you wanted to spend the evening with a bunch of working class losers from your floor, you are PATHETIC."

"Is there a point to this? If not, I'm hanging up now. Don't call me back Christie. I have had all I am going to take out of you – and David. Have a nice life, but leave me out of it." She clicked the phone closed. She heard a loud metal hitting pavement noise and looked up.

"Sorry." He reached for the wrench he'd dropped.

"Hi." She said. "How's the truck going?"

"Transmission needs work. I have a friend that can rebuild it for him, cheap, but I'm pulling it. He's using my truck for work until then." Victor said, as he wiped his greasy hands on his jeans.

"That is awfully generous of you. Thank you. Daniel is a good guy, and with those kids, he needs to save every penny he can." He smiled at her and she felt her heart flip in her chest. SHIT! He was too good looking by half.

"Not a problem, I ain't usin' my truck right now anyway." He leaned back against Daniel's truck as she walked up the steps to the lobby. "Elevator's fixed, by the way."

"Thanks. See you around." She said as she opened the lobby door.

She made it into her apartment before her cell phone started ringing in her pocket.

"CHRISTIE!"

"Victor."

"How'd you get my cell phone number?" She asked sharply.

"Daniel."

"Oh…what about my apartment number?"

"Information."

"Oh. I didn't tell you my full name."

"No, your sister yelled it loud enough for the whole damned floor to hear." He said with a chuckle. She blushed; she was going to KILL her twin.

"What are you doing for dinner tonight?"

'What?"

"You – me – dinner, you know that meal you eat at the end of the day….?" He said with a chuckle.

"I didn't have any plans."

"Good, let me get cleaned up, there's a great little Chinese place around the corner."

"I didn't say I was going to dinner with you."

"Sure you are, if only to rub it in your sister's face that you have a DATE not hanging out with some losers." She could hear his grin. She glanced out the window. He was still leaning on the truck down below, he had the audacity to look up and wave at her.

"I've had dates, and besides, if you aren't on some Forbes' list somewhere, you are a loser in her book."

"Good for you I am." He quipped back.

"Yeah right – why are you living HERE?"

"I like the view." He chuckled.

"You are nuts."

"Maybe – you'll have ta get ta know me better to find out." He said.

"Fine – dinner, and I'm paying for mine." She said.

"Fine. Pick you up in an hour." She watched him push off from the truck and close his cell phone. She wasn't sure if she liked him – or hated him in that moment.

Her apartment phone rang.

"I said fine – sheish. Dinner in an hour." She said.

"CHRISTIAN! Who the HELL are you talking to?" It was Christie.

"My date." She snapped.

"DATE! With one of those damned losers you hang out with, SHIT! I am not dealing with a brother-in-law with grease on his hands. You have a damned TRUST FUND for crying out loud."

"That you and David control, and that I don't want any part of so bug off." She snapped.

"Grandfather would be rolling in his grave…"

"GOOD, and I hope he's getting filthy doing it, a little dirt wouldn't hurt him." She snapped back. "The old bastard."

"CHRISTIAN!"

"I hated him – you know that."

"He loved you."

"Bullshit – he loved his money – and the money he got from Mom and Dad's death, we were inconvenient collateral expenses he had to take care of. He only liked YOU because you are as much a greedy money grubbing sleaze as he was."

"HOW DARE YOU!"

"It's the truth, and you know it. You follow the dollar signs. Do you really love that idiot you are married to, or the money he'll inherit from his daddy?"

"Don't you dare give up the ONE thing you have going for you – to some grease monkey." Her sister said snidely.

"I'll sleep with who I want – when I want, at least I'm not trying to sell it to the highest bidder." She snapped.

"You SHOULD be. I can't believe you like WORKING. I mean really, all you do all day is listen to sob stories. They had it coming to them, they are poor, living in crowded conditions, and do they expect NOT to attract attention. I mean really – rape is a matter of convenience for the rapist and idiocy for the girl."

"You are such an idiot, Christie." She snapped. "A selfish, self centered greedy idiot, I honestly HOPE you never have to deal with what some of these girls have had to deal with." She said sharply.

"Cry me a river, now blow this guy off and come out to the house, I am sure we can repair this thing with Mr. Stark and then you wouldn't ever have to listen to that shit again."

"Go to hell, I can't believe we are twins, you are such a bitch." She hung up the phone.

XXXXXXXX

Good for her. She was right, that sister of hers WAS a bitch. He'd been listening to the conversation the entire time, and laughing at how she handled it. She had spunk – fire, and he really liked that. The cute ass and nice rack didn't hurt either. He looked down at his grease covered hands and laughed. He could buy and sell Tony Stark if he wanted, and he KNEW Stark got his hands dirty on a regular basis, with all those toys he created.

He had thought about dressing up for dinner, but after listening to her conversation with her sister, he was going to be casual. He washed his hands and changed his jeans and shirt and grabbed his leather jacket from the closet. He looked around the apartment and decided he needed to improve some things – maybe get a real bed, some actual furniture, and maybe even do some cooking instead of living on take out. He was going to be on Eight for a while, he might as well be comfortable.

He opened his door and knocked on hers.

"Just a second." She shouted.

"No problem." He leaned against the door jam. She opened the door and gave a little squeak of surprise. She was in jeans and a light sweater that clung to every curve and he almost gave up the idea of dinner in favor of desert.

"I forget just how tall you are." She said by way of an apology. He grinned.

"Dinner awaits." He said.

She stepped out of the door and locked it, slipping her key into her pocket. He definitely needed to get a copy of that. He'd been a little surprised that she was a rape counselor; she seemed too sweet, too optimistic for that type of serious work. He followed her to the elevator, hanging back far enough to take an appreciative glance at her ass every now and then. Desert was sounding better and better.

The elevator doors closed on them, and they started down. He could tell she was uncomfortable.

"So what do you do?" He asked.

"I work at the Rape Crisis Center, down on 59th" She said.

"Wow, kudos for you."

"Thanks."

"No, I mean it, rape's nothin' ta laugh about."

"Thanks." She said again, he glanced down and she had a small smile on her face, score one for him. Damned do-gooders, at least he knew how to weasel his way in.

"What about you, besides the Forbes list?" She laughed.

"I'm currently unemployed at the moment. I do contract stuff. My last contract expired and they opted not to renew. I'm looking for a client base now." He said.

"What kind of contracting?"

"Corporate downsizing."

"Oh."

"Yeah – but it pays the bills." He chuckled. The elevator doors opened and he followed her out of the building.

"So, you and your sister don't get along?"

"God no. We are twins, but you couldn't tell it." She said.

"I kinda heard her yelling yesterday." He said.

"Yeah – sorry about that, she can really be a fish wife." She said. He grinned, that was an apt description of what he'd heard. They walked in silence for a while.

"So, Victor…is there a last name there, or is it like Cher?" She asked as they rounded the corner.

"Creed." He chuckled.

"Christian Charmichel."

"Yeah I heard."

He reached out and opened the door to the restaurant. This was going to be an interesting evening.

XXXXXXX

He was NICE – a little cocky and sure of himself, and if he didn't stop looking at her chest she was going to slap him, but he was NICE.

He seemed interested in her work. She almost confided in him. His difference was so obvious, while hers was hidden, but she just didn't know if she could trust him that far yet.

"So, what got you started in counseling – nothing personal I hope?" He asked.

"No, well actually a friend in high school was raped, and I always seemed to know what to say to help her." She said. "I got my degree and went to work for the Crisis Center, that was five years ago, been there since."

"You must be very empathic." She jumped at the word. "What."

"Nothing – most people don't call it that."

"Empathy – understanding what other people feel, why wouldn't they call it that?" He said.

"You are right." She silently cursed at herself. He hadn't guessed, but now he'd suspect something.

"Unless – you really are an empath?" She glanced at him over her Moo Goo. He had a look in his eye, one that said he'd figured it out.

"Not so loud." She hissed.

He just nodded and went back to his beef and broccoli. "Right, got ta keep it a secret."

"It's not that. They know at work, it's part of why they hired me, I just – with all the problems lately, don't want it shouted from the rooftops."

"What problems?"

"Have you been living in a monastery or something – all the attacks on mutants?" She said.

"I ignore those, not too many want to mess with me." He said with a laugh.

"Well – obviously, but still most of us aren't exactly intimidating." She chuckled.

They finished eating in relative silence, and she insisted on separate checks.

"You know, there are places – people that help us." He said as they left the restaurant.

"Yeah, I know." She said softly, thinking about her own experiences with those places – those people.

They said good night at her door, and he seemed a little disappointed that she didn't invite him in. He'd get over it. She wasn't in any huge rush for a relationship.

XXXXXXX

Desert would have to wait. Her being a mutant moved things to a whole different level. He needed to check on some things, see what he could find out about her – and her sister. Twins were usually both mutants – and usually very powerful. They could both prove to be valuable allies, if he played his cards right.

He closed his door, and picked up his phone from the table. He needed to call Fury.


	4. Chapter 4

EIGHTS

Ok another "Where was Creed during the other two movies?" plot, I know I know, I've done them do death – but there are SO many interesting possibilities.

I don't own them; I don't own him – aside from wishful thinking that is. Thank you Marvel for creating such wonderful characters to play with and a wonderful world for them to play in. I hope my minor contributions are appreciated.

Chapter 4 – Follow the Money

She was Daniel Charmichel's granddaughter of Charmichel Steel and Aluminum. FUCK! He groaned at the report Fury had sent over. She had a trust fund the size of the state debt for the state of New York, and a sister and brother-in-law that were completely unscrupulous and dirty. They would get control of the money when she reached thirty unless she was married to a man with TWICE the amount of liquid assets. She had six months.

He understood exactly what her sister was doing, throwing her at rich men, turning her off the whole idea, so that they would get the money. It was very clever reverse psychology, for a shallow two faced little social climber – and not even a mutant to boot. Christine was as normal as dirt. Christian got all the talent from that gene pool.

This made his goals a little clearer – but not in a way he was willing to ... well consider anyway. The problem was he really liked her, and not just as a potential playmate in the bedroom – but LIKED her. He even admired what she did, not that it would put a stop to his own activities, he'd just make sure none of his…ladies ended up in her center.

It wasn't like Fury didn't have a damned leash on him anyway, and the first time he stepped out of line, he'd yank it back. Well – two could play that game, and he wasn't in the mood to go back under SHEILD's umbrella. He needed to contact a few old acquaintances and see about clearing up a few things.

He hadn't seen her in a few days. She was working late, and he'd been a little busy with his redecorating, he'd missed her when she came home. Eighth Night was tonight and he wasn't going to let the opportunity go to waste. He'd been cooking all damned afternoon.

"'Oi mate – you look cute in those potholders" Toad said as he came in the door. He thought he'd locked that.

"Shut the fuck up and grab that package of pasta." He growled pointing his chin to the lasagna noodles he needed to drop in the boiling water on the stove.

"I ain't your assistant." Toad hopped over to the counter and handed him the package

He growled and Toad jumped. "Fine, here."

He dropped the pasta one at a time into the boiling water. The last thing he needed was another disaster with pasta sticking together.

"What the hell are you doing here, anyway Frogboy?" He snapped as he dropped the last noodle into the water.

"Got a job, a real nice one, but when I saw the address I thought I'd do a little checkin' before I said yes."

"Why?"

"It's the apartment across the hall…a real looker from her picture too – have some nice fun with that one." He grinned and was still grinning as Victor slammed him into the wall head first.

"Touch Christian – and I'll kill you Toad." He snarled.

"So it's like that?"

"Yeah – it's like that. She's a friend."

"You ain't bangin' her then?"

"NO!" He growled.

"I can't imagine YOU restraining yourself. What is it? She a lesbo or something?"

"No, she's just…NICE!"

"Nice?"

"Yeah – nice. All the people on this damned floor are…nice. I don't get it, it's like some strange universe all its own." Victor dropped him back to the floor, his point clear.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"They help each other, without expecting anything in return. Tonight is Eighth Night, when everyone cooks something and the whole floor has a potluck dinner."

"THAT'S what all this is about…how many of those damned things have you cooked?" Toad was rubbing his throat, and pointing at the three finished lasagnas on the counter.

"I have two in the freezer that didn't turn out so nice so this is number six." He said.

"DAMN – I didn't know you could cook?"

"You are pushing your luck."

"So what's the deal with the pretty across the way?"

"She's mine."

"But you said you ain't bangin her."

"That's right – I'm not, yet."

"OHHHHH!" Toad was grinning again. "So it's like THAT!"

"Like WHAT?"

"She's playin' hard to get."

"No – I'm takin' it slow."

"Slow – Victor for you this is DEAD, you've been here what two weeks, and you still haven't gotten into her pants."

"I told you – she's nice. As in – old fashioned, nice girl."

"A virgin?"

"TOAD!"

"Just sayin – you are one lucky son of a bitch…" Victor glared at him as Toad settled down in one of the new chairs in the living room. A sudden thought occurred to him.

"Who hired you?"

"Some rich boy out on Long Island."

"Name?"

"Hey – if you ain't in on the job, I ain't talki…" He struggled to breath to finish the sentence as Victor squeezed his throat. He waved his hands a few times, and Victor let go.

"You ain't lost your edge that's for sure. David Williams, the bloke that hired me."

"Her fuckin' brother in law, that son of a bitch, can't wait six more fucking months." He snarled.

"He said somethin' about takin out her and her new boyfriend."

"Good luck on the boyfriend." Victor grinned.

"Yeah – I kinda got the hint that might be you."

"Never said you were dumb, Toad."

"So what happens in six months?"

"If she's not married to some rich guy – and by rich I mean in my tax bracket – she loses her trust fund to her sister and brother in law."

"What kind of trust fund are we talkin' about?" Toad's eyes lit up with greed.

"None of your damned business – it wouldn't even increase my interest, but it's HER money, not theirs."

"So, you planning on helpin' her out of this spot – or just workin your way into her bed, because, from the looks of things – you're workin pretty hard at it. Your pasta's boiling over."

"SHIT!" He grabbed the pot and reached into the water with a pair of tongs to test the pasta. "I don't know what I'm planning. She's got me all tied up in knots. We've been out twice this week."

"Whoa you DATING! This is serious."

"Fuck you Toad."

"At lest tell me you're not losing your edge." He rubbed his throat in emphasis.

He glared at the little man.

"Alright – I'll leave your girl alone, but I need ta tell her brother in law something."

"I have an idea." He grinned at Toad.

"Why am I scared?"

"Tell David her 'boyfriend' is huge, bigger than you can handle alone; tell him you have a buddy that will come in with you who can handle the guy. Then introduce me."

"You're gonna take a contract on your girl?"

"Yeah – let her brother in law pay me to kill her, and then I'll tell her what he's doing, offer to help her out of the bind."

"Help her out, how?"

"Marry her stupid."

"Why don't ya just ask her?"

"Because I'm a sick twisted son of a bitch and I want her to OWE me. Besides, she's a fucking rape counselor, a do gooder, if I'm gonna have to put up with that crap for the next twenty to thirty years, I want to make it worth my while."

"You are right – you are a sick twisted son of a bitch."


	5. Chapter 5

EIGHTS

Ok another "Where was Creed during the other two movies?" plot, I know I know, I've done them do death – but there are SO many interesting possibilities.

I don't own them; I don't own him – aside from wishful thinking that is. Thank you Marvel for creating such wonderful characters to play with and a wonderful world for them to play in. I hope my minor contributions are appreciated.

Chapter 5 – Bringing out the Worst in Each Other.

She groaned. The phone was ringing again. It was either Christine, or Maggie, both of whom were driving her insane. Maggie wanted all the details about the guy she was dating, and Christine wanted to murder him. The thing she was afraid of, was that Christine was being literal. Christian wouldn't put it past her sister to hire someone.

Eighth Night had been fun, and Victor's lasagna had been a big hit. His friend wasn't that bad either, and she could swear she saw him slipping out of the building this morning when she'd gotten up for work. Michelle might have bitten off more than she could chew with that one, but that wasn't Christian's problem.

"Christian – it's Maggie, how'd Eighth Night go? Call me." She groaned. Maggie had pestered her all day at work today, wanting details. Who was he? How long had she known him? Had he made any inappropriate moves – and if so give all the gory details? Maggie could be such an idiot sometimes.

She kicked off her shoes and groaned. It had been another long day, and she doubted Victor would want to deal with her bad mood so she just went into the bedroom and grabbed a bathrobe and some scented candles. She needed a good long soak. She turned on the hot water in her bathroom, and went into the kitchen to throw something in the microwave. She had some of the lasagna from last night she'd brought back and was planning on heating it up.

She was opening the door to the microwave when the front door burst open.

"DON'T!" Victor roared. "Come with me." He rushed across the apartment and opened a window.

"What's going on?"

"Gas leak."

"What?"

"I could smell it across the hall, I'm surprised you didn't."

"I have water running in the bathroom."

"Just get your shoes on, and get out." He snarled. She was surprised at how fierce he was. She just slipped her shoes back on and he went into the bathroom and turned off the water. "I called the super to make sure it was just your apartment, he's getting someone up here to check."

"Wow…I wonder what caused it."

"I don't know – but I don't like it." He grumbled.

"What do you mean; it's just a gas leak."

"Things aren't always what they seem." He muttered as he opened the door to his apartment. "The super said he'd be up in a bit, I'll leave the door open." Victor said.

"I'm not worried." She smiled.

"You should be." He growled back. She shook her head. She'd never seen this side of him before. He picked up a cell phone off of his desk, one of three, she noticed.

"Mort – why was there a gas leak in Christian's apartment?"

"You're sure?"

"Alright – continue with what we discussed, I expect to hear something soon." He clicked the phone closed.

"Why would your friend know anything about a gas leak in my apartment?"

"Christian – no offense, but I don't have time for questions right now." He snarled.

"Oh?"

He picked up a different cell phone, and dialed another number.

"Fury – Creed, I need you to check the surveillance on the building, there was a gas leak in 805, and I want to see if anyone I know was involved."

"Why is the building under...?"

He put his hand over the phone and glared at her. "I said no questions."

"Fine."

"Sorry – what? Really? I'll take care of it. Get me that surveillance."

"No! Fuck you, Fury." He snapped the phone shut. The third cell phone rang right at that moment, startling him.

"Creed."

"Really?"

"You don't say?"

"How much?"

"No offense, but that's an insult. I don't do something like that for less than a hundred."

"Yeah grand."

"Name?"

"Got a photo?"

"Email it to this phone." Christian dropped her shields. He was excited, just a little bit nervous, and angry, very angry.

"Vi…" He put his finger over his mouth, shushing her again. She glared at him, and picked up his humor at her glare. She was going to wring his neck when this was done.

"Got it." He looked at the phone a second, and she felt a rush of satisfaction from him, and almost a tinge of regret. What was he up to?

"I'll get you word – when I'm done, half the money up front, wire it to the account I'll send you, no questions." He snarled into the phone, and clicked it shut.

"Now can I talk?"

"No." He growled, and picked up the first phone again.

"Nice work, Mort, I just got the call."

"Yeah – I'm on it. Did you do that other thing I asked for?"

"Good, I'll see you in ten minutes."

He looked back at her, just as the super knocked on the open door.

"It's in 805." Victor said to the super, who used his master key to open her apartment.

"NOW you can talk." He said.

"Thank you so much for your permission." She snapped.

"So she does have a temper? I was beginning to wonder." He leaned back on the kitchen bar.

"I want to know what the hell is going on!" She tried not to shout.

"Before or after the leak – that's two different situations." He said, giving her a slow, lazy smile, like a cat that knew the mouse was trapped.

"Start at the beginning." She snapped.

"Ok, I haven't been exactly truthful."

"I figured that out."

"I told you I did contract work – I do, contracts."

"What kind of…you mean…?"

"Yeah."

"Wait – I just heard you take a…"

"Don't worry about it – I'll get to that." She felt a chill of fear run down her spine. What HAD she gotten herself into.

"Now then where was I, oh yeah, contracts. I'm kinda retired, I have a government leash on me at the moment, I can't work without clearing it with them first."

"So the job you just took…?"

"Is cleared."

"Oh." She paused. "What does this have to do with me – and my gas leak?"

"We're about to find out." The super stuck his head in.

"Someone cut the line to the stove. The pilot was blown out; the entire place would have blown if you hadn't caught it. I don't know who's messing around in my building, but it better quit." He glared at Victor.

"So it was sabotaged?"

"Yeah. I'm calling in the cops on this."

"Go right ahead – I was gonna ask you to, if you didn't offer."

"What about me – can I go back to my apartment?" She asked.

"Yeah, I cut the gas off, we'll have to relight the pilot to the water heater and stove after the line's fixed. I'll get a plumber up here tomorrow. I'd let it air out about an hour before you go back for any length of time. I opened all the windows to clear the gas."

"Thank you."

The man left with a glare at Victor and a muttered "I'm calling the cops."

"Ok – so someone cut the gas line in my apartment?"

"Yeah – and I don't know who – I knew there was a contract out on you, I found out yesterday. The guy that took it – well he came to me to let me know – try to cut me in."

"What?"

"Your brother-in-law wants you dead, Christian." He said simply.

"David – that WIMP!"

"Yeah. He hired Mort to do it, and just hired me."

"WHAT!?"

"That was him on the phone – I wanted you to hear me take it."

"Why?" She was suddenly terrified.

"Don't, I'm not gonna hurt you Christian. I've been doing a little digging – seems I'm not the only one with secrets."

"What?"

"You're trust fund."

"Is that why David…?"

"Yeah – he's tired of waiting, and in a bad spot, if they don't get control of the money soon; he's going to have to file a very embarrassing bankruptcy."

"What do you mean, embarrassing?"

"It appears he's been a little too lavish, borrowing money where he shouldn't, and the mistress he keeps on the side isn't cheap."

"He's got a MISTRESS – does Christine know?"

"She knows about the contract on you – she was the one sending the photo over."

"Oh my God. What are you going to do?"

"Well – that's up to you."

"Am I interuptin' I hope." Mortimer came in grinning.

"Just the explanations…you got it?"

"Yeah – you mean I made it in time for the good part." The strange little man was grinning like a loon as he handed Victor a small, unmarked plastic bag.

"What do you mean it's up to me, and he's the one who was hired to kill me?"

"Yes to the second, and do you know the terms of the trust?"

"Not exactly - Christine and David always controlled it, I know my grandfather didn't trust me to handle the money, so he put some weird terms on it. I was in college when he died, and couldn't make it to the reading of the will."

"Then this will be even more interesting than I thought." Victor grinned that slow grin again, and again she felt like a mouse trapped by a cat.

"I don't understand."

"Your trust fund requires that you be married – to someone whose liquid assets are at least twice the amount of your trust fund, which is sizeable, by the way, by your thirtieth birthday."

"WHAT!?"

"Yep."

"How did you find that out?"

"It's a matter of public record; it's a trust for God's sake, and an open one at that."

"Oh my God, I'll KILL that son of a bitch."

"Who?"

"My grandfather."

"Isn't he dead?"

"Does that MATTER? MARRIED – I don't want to get married, not because I HAVE to." She was getting really angry now – first David and his stupid greed, and now this."What happens if I don't?"

"The money goes to Christine and David, and you are left with nothing."

"Then WHY is he trying to KILL me, NOW!"

"I told you – he's facing a very embarrassing bankruptcy or worse if some of his creditors come calling. He needs the money within thirty days, not six months."

"YOU know how OLD I am?"

"It's no secret, birth certificates are public record too." She just rolled her eyes.

"Now what?" She wanted to scream.

"Well I only know one guy that meets those criteria – for the trust. You could get married quickly, get the money, and hold old David over a barrel. That's my first plan; I'd like ta see the bastard suffer a bit."

"What's plan B."

"You get married – get the money, and I make your sister a widow – one that will have to rely on you after his debts are paid – sweet revenge there too."

"Is there a plan that DOESN'T involve me getting married?"

"Nope."

"I think I've managed to piss off every guy in the city that meets those criteria, thanks to my sister, so do you mind telling me why this friend of yours would want to marry me – except to get control of my money."

"Control of the money isn't important to anyone but David. I couldn't care less what you do with your money, Chris."

"YOU!?"

"Hey – I'm good at what I do, and I invest it, well. I won't take less than one hundred grand for a job, and I'm only doing that on this one because the fringe benefits make it worthwhile." He was grinning that grin again.

"Wait a damned minute…YOU have twice my liquid assets?"

"Do you want to see my balance sheet – I think it's actually four times, but I'm not counting."

"Why the HELL are you living here?"

"Two reasons – one, I told you I'm on a government leash, and they determined where I had to live, and two, I really like the view."

"What view?"

"The one out my front door."

"Ha ha."

"So what do you say?"

"To what?"

"Which plan?"

"Neither."

"Mort get lost – and close the door behind ya." He said, and the other man grinned, and walked out.

"Christian, we need to discuss this." Victor said as the door closed.

"There's nothing to discuss."

"Listen – I'm not saying get married for good, okay? Just long enough for you to get control of your money."

"No."

"Why not?"

"A myriad of reasons – starting with, I don't know who the hell you are."

"Victor Creed – sometimes known as Sabretooth."

"OH SHIT!"

"I only lied about what I did, and that wasn't exactly a lie."

"Corporate downsizing wasn't a lie?"

"No – I've done that – sort of." He was actually a little sheepish in this grin.

"You are a terrorist – a murderer – and a liar…" She started.

"Now wait just a damned minute – I told you I only lied by omission."

"You're not arguing with the other two – or the fact that you are a rapist."

"The first two – no I won't argue with – the last – not in a while."

"A while?"

"Twenty years."

"What? That's supposed to make a difference?"

"Christian, I'm over one hundred years old."

"Oh – great – and a cradle robber to boot." She muttered.

"I'm not putting up with this. SHUT UP – put on the DAMNED RING, and call your sister and tell her you are engaged."

"Uhh NO!"

"Christian, don't make me get ugly."

"You already did."

"Fine – I'm trying to save your neck here, I could just walk away and let David pay someone else."

"You're really doing this to save me?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"You don't want to know."

"I think I do."

"You're not gonna like it."

"I don't care." She dropped her shields again, and what she felt from him stopped her cold. He couldn't be…

"I'm in love with you."

"Oh – damn."

"Not the reaction I was hoping for…"

"No – I let my shields down."

"What?"

"I'm an empath, remember."

"Oh – yeah."

"You really are."

"I wouldn't say – I wouldn't normally say it anyway, but…"

"Okay – I get it. You're trying to save me."

"Yeah."

"This doesn't have to be permanent if I don't want it to be?"

"No…I'll let you go, if you want to go, you have my word."

"I'd really like to see David sweat." She didn't even know she had that much anger – or vindictiveness inside her, but she was really looking forward to the look on David's face.

"Just one thing – it's a marriage, not a farce."

"I get it, benefits."

"No – not unless you want to, but I'd like the chance to earn it – and convince you to make it permanent."

"Fair enough."

He tossed her a box and she opened it. Inside was a beautiful ring.

"Wow."

"I've had it for a while, Toad – Mort – and I share a safety deposit box for small stuff, I had him pick it up. It'll probably need sized."

"Okay." She pulled it out and slipped it on her ring finger. He was right, it was about two sizes too big, but she'd make do for now.

"I want to get this done as quickly as possible – so we can get on to the fun part."

"Sex?"

"No – torturing David." She laughed – and so did he.


	6. Chapter 6

EIGHTS

Ok another "Where was Creed during the other two movies?" plot, I know I know, I've done them do death – but there are SO many interesting possibilities.

I don't own them; I don't own him – aside from wishful thinking that is. Thank you Marvel for creating such wonderful characters to play with and a wonderful world for them to play in. I hope my minor contributions are appreciated.

Chapter – Making Him Sweat

He climbed out of the limo, carefully adjusting his tie and buttoning his suit coat as the driver stood respectfully to the side of the door. He looked up at the porch of the palatial house and bit back the deep growl in his throat. He'd deal with David later, for now Christian wanted him to sweat. He glanced down to the thick gold band on his finger and grinned. He had time to get used to the idea, but for now he had a brother-in-law to punish.

He'd made Chris stay at his apartment last night. He wasn't going to let the third contractor take his prize now that he'd finally gotten her to agree. She owed him her life…and a few other things he was planning on enjoying after this was over.

A man in a suit opened the door for him and led him to a book lined library. He could tell many of the books were expensive first editions – and were rarely out of place. It was all for show, just like everything in David's and Christine's lives. He schooled his face to keep from showing the contempt as he passed the servant and walked to the proffered chair in front of the desk.

"Ahh, Mister…" The weasely man behind the desk started to stand.

"They call me Sabretooth." He growled as he eased into the chair. "That's all you need to know."

"You asked for this meeting, Mr. Sabretooth. I thought you understood the job."

"I did, but there are complications we need to discuss."

"I don't like…complication." David snapped.

Victor smiled, his fangs slipping over his lower lip as his black eyes flashed. He watched the blood drain out of David's face. "I didn't ask what you like."

"The woman is a thorn in my side, and I want it removed." David snarled. His face flushed an ugly purple and Victor almost laughed out loud.

"You told me to handle it any way I wanted. I handled it. She's not going to bother you again. Now there is the matter of my money."



"I'll wire it to the same account."

"That account is compromised. I need it wired to this one." He handed the slip across the desk. He watched as David's eyes widened as he read the numbers.

"What…this is impossible. You don't have access to this account…" He sputtered.

"I do…now." Victor let the 'professional' smile on his face slip into his favorite grin, the one that meant blood was about to be spilled.

"That means Christian…"

"Is my WIFE!" He growled the last word.

"No that's impossible. She couldn't get access to the money…"

"Unless my liquid assets were at least double hers…I have no use for money, I just invest it. I think the accountant figured it at six point five times the amount in the trust fund."

"You BASTARD….I hired you to KILL her!" The purple in David's face deepened and with it Victor's grin.

"I liked what I saw." He purred.

"Did you kill the bastard she was fucking…?" David snarled.

"No…I'm sittin' right in front of you." He let out a low growl…"and I really didn't appreciate being hired to kill myself."

"I didn't know…" David sputtered. The door behind them opened and a washed out version of his wife wearing an expensive tennis outfit walked in the door.

"You must be Christine…" He pitched his voice low, and caught her scent as the vibration had its usual effect. The scent just amused him; she just didn't have Christian's spice or spark.

"David, I told I don't like you to bring people like that here." She snapped as she walked around the desk and dropped onto the window seat behind it. Victor almost couldn't blame David for the high priced mistress he was keeping, almost.

"Anyway…the problem is no longer your concern; we'll send you an invitation to the reception…as soon as you let us know where you are moving." He purred. He really was enjoying this and planned on dragging things out before the coup de gras.

"Moving?" Christine glared at David.



He heard the sound of the car pull up and grinned, Toad was right on time.

The front door opened and he heard two sets of footsteps walking toward the library door. He grinned, and it just widened at the smell of fear from the other two in the room.

"Hello David, Christine…" Chris said as she slammed open the door. Victor bit back the low chuckle, fury was written all over her, and he couldn't wait to see what she was going to do to them. He'd discovered his little goodie goodie had a mean streak a mile wide.

"Christian…what are you...? Christine's face blanched.

"Doing here? Doing still breathing?" She turned on her twin, the smile on her face almost frightened Victor. He revised his relaxed pose ready to pounce in case Chris decided to get violent. "Don't worry; I'll give you 30 days…to get out of my house."

"What?"

"You didn't know…your husband's in debt up to his eyeballs, the house had a triple mortgage on it…which I now own, and I've decided to turn it into a shelter for abused women."

"How did...?" David snarled.

"What – get my hands on your debts…" Victor didn't bother holding back this time; he let the chuckle roll from his chest. "Well what my little trust fund wouldn't cover, my husband graciously agreed to cover. "We own you."

David sputtered and his face turned an even deeper shade of purple. Victor wondered if the man's heart could take this pressure, and just kept chuckling. Christine launched herself across the desk, hitting her husband in the back of the head on the way over, her hands clawed and reaching for Christian's throat. Victor surged to stop her but Toad's tongue was faster, slapping the woman to the floor from midair.

"Touch my wife; I'll gut you where you stand." Victor snarled.

"That goes double for me…well except the wife part." Toad said with a grin.

"I paid you…both…" David started.

"Yes we know…so does she. The only reason you are not in jail at the moment is we all decided to make you suffer. Your choice, prison or the in-laws."

He was surprised when Chris slid against his side, her arm slipping around his waist, before turning to look at her sister.

"You have thirty days, before this house turns into the Victor Creed Shelter for Battered Women, and don't call me looking for a place to live. Eight is full."


End file.
